


The Last Loop

by LemonBurnt



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: But tags are subject to change, I think I listed everyone who will have at least some role beyond just a mention, Multi, Other, We haven't gotten to everyone listed yet but we will!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-11-15 00:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18063296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonBurnt/pseuds/LemonBurnt
Summary: Joey Drew Studios is no place for a kindly former animator named Henry Stein.Joey Drew Studios is absolutely no place for a man pushed to the brink and beyond over and over again. But something seems to be changing. The playthings are tired of being played with. What happens when the toys rebel?





	1. The Plea

The problem with repetitive torture is that you get used to it. When you walk the same halls, hear the same words, watch the same people die over and over again… it all becomes a blur. Every injury felt or inflicted numbs you, desensitizes you to the next one, in the same place, in the same way. However many hundreds or thousands of times it occurred, the number didn’t matter anymore. One life blurred into the next death until both felt exactly the same. You learn to find little things that make you feel sane in a world like this.

For Bendy, it was the brief period of time that followed his death.

Searing pain. Blinding light that consumed everything around it. Then, blackness. The voices returned first. Whispering, sighing, sobbing, BEGGING for release—

But no one heard.

No one who cared to act on it, at least.

The world would shake and rumble, the ink machine roaring to life, ready to spit out another him, ready to try again. He’d be unceremoniously dumped to the ground. Sometimes he saw the creator waiting for him. More recently, he didn’t even bother with that. Why would he? Bendy knew what he had to do. It never changed. There was little else to do but wait then. Like discarded dolls waiting for their owner, the studio lurked in relative silence.

Bendy did not.

While the creator’s mind was elsewhere, resetting the story and rewriting the scenes, the ink demon simply wandered. These in-between moments offered Bendy a rare degree of freedom, after all. Sometimes he replaced cutouts. Other times he would roam beyond the pre-planned paths the creator laid out for him.

After this round, however, something was out of place. Just before what the creator mockingly called his ‘throne room’, a cassette player lay discarded, resting beside a strange device he couldn’t recall seeing before. He picked up the cassette player first. Just looking at it gave him no indication of where it belonged. He could have sworn all the ones he knew of were accounted for. So where did this one come from? He pressed the play button. Maybe he did forget one. Several lay buried in some strange places, after all. But this time…

He’d never heard this recording before.

“How many times have we been here, Bendy?”

He perked up a bit at Henry’s tired voice. He always liked to hear Henry speak. As time went on, Henry had grown progressively less chatty, more… hollow. It seemed like now he’d found something to say.

“I wish I could refuse to go in. But we know this game. I know this game now. Our lives bend to Joey’s whims, and we are who he decides we are. We can’t keep doing this, Bendy. Do you see that device I left you? Pick it up.”

It felt wrong in his hands. This wasn’t meant for him.

“Look through it. What do you see?”

Words softly glowed on the wall.

_The End? No, the beginning._

He shuddered at the reference.

“I discovered that my previous selves left notes on the walls, the floor, around people… practically anywhere they could. Some are helpful, and some… not so much. No matter the case, I need this tool, Bendy. I’m not going to remember it when I come in next. You though… you might. I need you to try your best to remember, bring this tool to me, and help resist him. For my sake… for everyone in the studio… maybe even for Joey’s sake. Help me. Rewrite the story. Make this loop the last.”


	2. Rerun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The musings of a man who's seen it all before.  
> Just... maybe not a man who's conscious of that.

“Alright, Joey. I’m here. Let’s see if we can find what you wanted me to see.”  
  
Henry felt like he’d taken those first couple steps into the studio thousands of times—and surely, he had. But it was so long ago, it amazed him he still recognized the place. A thin veneer of nostalgia did all it could to rub away the derelict exterior. He hardly noticed the disarray.  
  
Or if he did, he tried to ignore it. His first instinct was to make a beeline for where his old desk used to be. Whether he’d actually expected to find it there, even he didn’t know. There it sat though, untouched by time. An original sketch of his, one he hadn’t grabbed up in his hasty exit 30 years ago, still lay on its surface, waiting for linework. The wood was a bit rougher around the edges from age, but still the same… except for the fact that his chair now backed an entire animation department, rather than a wall.  
  
|There is something rather satisfying about being proven irreplaceable. |  
  
He didn’t step inside. A once-over told him enough. He returned to the main room to explore more, running a finger down one of the posters as he passed.  
  
The first thing to greet Henry down the next hallway were the words **DREAMS COME TRUE** slathered in what he assumed to be ink on the wall. He blinked at it a moment or two. He recognized it one part of Joey’s favorite mantras, but simply disregarded it and moved on. All he planned was a quick in and out. He didn’t need to think about anything else. Joey’s office should be just around the corner.  
  
Except… it wasn’t. His sureness faltered at the next line of signs, directing to something called an ‘ink machine’. He was about to follow the pointed direction when he spotted a familiar object off to one side—an audio log. He remembered when Joey introduced the damn things, insisted on every employee having and using one for ‘productivity reasons’. He still believed that Joey only wanted them so he could eavesdrop on the employees. ‘Work Hard, Work Happy’, after all. Unlikely that Joey kept any of his; he disparaged the man in most of them. Curiosity got the better of him though, and he pressed play on the one in front of him.  
  
“At this point, I don’t get what Joey’s plan is for the company. The animations sure aren’t being finished on time anymore—"  
  
Wally. Of course. It almost felt good to hear him again, though a shiver ran down his spine when the mischievous New Yorker’s voice crackled to life.  
  
He’d have to keep an eye out for more tapes.  
  
For the moment though, the ‘ink machine’ awaited. He paused a moment in front of Thomas’ ink output chart, briefly wondering what in the world Joey would need so many gallons of ink for, before continuing to the room the machine itself sat in.  
  
…Perhaps ‘room’ was the wrong word. Just the… the warehouse this monstrosity of ink and metal hung in (he realized when he noticed the floor was just a sheer drop into nothing) was bigger than the whole building that Joey Drew Studios first encompassed. He could have sworn the studio wasn’t this big from the outside.  
  
No Joey waited there to greet him. He supposed he’d have to track down where the man’s office had disappeared to. That required starting the machine, from the looks of it. Batteries conveniently lay strewn about before the railing. While he did wonder about just how easy this task seemed to be, he simply reminded himself,  
  
|Don’t overthink it. |  
  
Retracing his steps brought him to another new room: pictures behind pedestals, all with thickly corded tubes leading back to what seemed to be the ink machine’s power switch. The former break room.  
  
“—Joey had each one of us donate something from our work stations,” he recalled Wally saying. “To help ‘appease the gods’.”  
  
|Fix the machine. Locate and place the items. |  
  
Times like this reminded Henry of where his talents lay. A mind like a steel trap and an innate sense of direction helped immensely in this little fetch quest. A couple lucky guesses didn’t hurt either.  
  
|Turn Left, there’s the break room. Grab Joey’s old book, ‘The Illusion of Living’. |  
  
|Grab the ink bottle from the animation department. No, not that one, the one with the skull on the label. |  
  
|The Bendy doll is in the recording room. |  
  
|Record’s in Sammy’s office. |  
  
|Gear’s back by the ink machine. |  
  
The last thing he needed was something from Thomas (or perhaps Wally, he tried to guess): A wrench. He let his feet guide him, since he didn’t recall seeing a wrench in any of the rooms he’d entered.  
  
He ended up partway to the ink machine in a room that he’d somehow walked right past. The sight now before him terrified him. That… whatever it was, sure looked a lot like Boris. Strapped to the table.  
  
Split open.  
  
“Oh my god. Joey… What were you doing?”  
  
Then he spotted the wrench. Of course it was shoved inside him.  
  
He moved toward it, even as his mind screamed to turn and leave. The wrench popped out with little difficulty.  
  
|Grace under pressure. |  
  
The ink machine turned on quickly once he’d gotten the ink flow running. Now to see how that helped him.  
  
He slowly approached the now boarded-up doorway to the ink machine, brow furrowing slightly in confusion. When did this happen? He’d just been in that room a few minutes ago! As he raised a hesitant hand to touch the boards, a skeletal figure popped up on the other side, startling him back. An ominous tolling in his head forced him back to his feet, ink and darkness creeping towards him, threatening to swallow him and this world whole. He turned on his heel and ran. Whatever Joey wanted to show him could rot here for all he cared! He just needed to escape! Little trickles of light seeping under the door he came from encouraged him forward, as the world started to sink into an inky black abyss. He just needed to reach the door—  
  
Then the floor gave way.  
  
One last desperate lunge to grab the handle, the floorboards, anything to keep him there only succeeded in slamming his hand into a jagged clump of wood shards and rusted nail before he plummeted further into the darkness.  
The impact hurt as much as his hand did. He laid there, face to the floor as he tried to keep consciousness. At first the blackness seeping in seemed like he was losing that fight.  
  
Oozing black feet stepped into his line of vision. Ink. Incapacitated, all he could do was wait for death.  
  
The creature didn’t attack, though. Instead, it silently padded over to some wooden structure, set something he couldn’t discern down, and retreated, taking the shifting darkness with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, past Chapter 1 of the game! At this point things will begin to diverge from the regular narrative.
> 
> You may notice that the layout of the studio is just a little wonky in comparison to the game. That would be because I mish-mashed the pre and post Chapter 1 update layouts to minimize the back-and-forths and give my storyline a little more coherency.


	3. 'Mindless'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ink demon gets a break from the same old scenes.

Radio static and vague directions filled his mind. The creator made them easy to remember, drilling into him like a drumbeat with every shambling step.  


  * No direct contact with Henry is allowed until he approaches the boarded wall
  * All interaction must come from the cutouts
  * If Henry doesn’t go to the exit willingly, MAKE HIM



The forced shift from sentience to empty-headed monster for countless seemingly pointless attempts left Bendy’s brain just a little muddled. Even his own thoughts seemed too loud and unwieldy to handle. It was easier to wander the halls in a haze than try to focus upon anyone or anything. Everything he did on this first level was mechanical, letting himself drown in the deafening buzz.  
  
Henry made things different.  
  
Something about the former animator broke through the fog, through the endless static and the murmurs of countless voices. Being near him and hearing his voice helped clear his mind, if only a little.  
  
He wanted to be near him. He needed to be. He wanted to be able to _think_. But the rules didn’t work that way.  
  


\--

With no creator around to take it from him, he started with something extra this time. Bendy stared down at the objects in his hands, as puzzled an expression on his face as his permanent grin would allow. One looked like an illuminated window pane attached to a lever and powered by a battery-operated switch. The other was an audio log. Where did he get these from? What was he doing with them?

…Maybe they were for Henry. Did he need it? Did he WANT it? If so, why?

The questions buzzed in his head, eliciting a low growl. Whatever they were, he had to decide what to do with them fast. He could make the cutouts move at a distance, but every step Henry made away from him felt louder and louder and LOUDER—

Raising his hands to grip the sides of his head had the unintended consequence of bringing the glass with it. He caught sight of something glowing. The screaming in his head faded momentarily. He readjusted the glass. Several things were glowing, actually.

Over the Boris poster.

_I’m sorry, Buddy._

He felt a wince of jealousy. Why did Boris get to be called ‘buddy’? All the wolf ever did in the cartoons was eat and bully him. He shifted the seeing glass to the right, over his poster.

_Tally marks._ Hundreds of them. You could barely see the poster through them all. His smile twitched, the only change of expression he was capable of as recognition flooded his too crowded mind. Loops. Hundreds upon hundreds of loops. Beyond that—deaths. So many deaths. Of him—of _Henry_ —

Which did they represent?

“Make this loop the last.”

He heard Henry’s voice, clear as day, and he turned quickly, afraid he’d messed up and Henry had spotted him.

No one was there.

He had to get this to Henry, before this flash of lucidity wore off. Or maybe the question was if it WOULD wear off. Sure, the static still pounded the corners of his mind, but at least for the moment this was simply background noise. When was the last time he could think like this?

No matter. Henry was heading to the ink machine again. He had to move quickly.

Walls didn’t stop him. As long as he had a sigil or a puddle of ink, he could enter and exit as he pleased. In the walls, voices begged for salvation, moaning cries rising and falling in a haunted chorus. Inky arms reached through the aged wood slats, trying to grab anything solid—whether to pull themselves out or their target in he didn’t know. He shrugged off any that caught purchase.

He stepped into the machine room. The wooden barricade already blocked the entrance. Henry already reached for them. Suddenly his presence no longer provided clarity, but something far deeper, far darker, and more sinister. His vision blurred, and he lurched for where he remembered the entrance to be. He heard Henry gasp, heard the familiar thud of him stumbling backwards, and he reached out.

**Help.  
Henry, HELP ME—**

But he remembered how this part went, even if he couldn’t see it. Henry turned and ran. He could hear the retreating footsteps, missing the desperation in his reach. He needed the cutouts to guide him now, his only source of vision. He’d pop out from sigil to sigil, his sight getting darker and darker as the world grew increasingly engulfed in blackness, HIS blackness. Tendrils of ink and void consumed everything behind Henry as he ran for the exit. The floorboards conveniently gave way a second before he could reach the door, and he fell into the maw of the beast.

Bendy still couldn’t see.

But he had to act.

He wasn’t supposed to be on this level, not until the prophet made a sacrifice. The creator didn’t watch his obedient little pet, though. He’d never given him reason to. Henry was far more interesting. That gave him some time.

When he stepped out, it was to a faint gasp. He’d entered from the same sigil the prophet intended to exit through.

“My lord-!”

Bendy shushed him, a sinister hissing sound as he raised one finger to his smiling mouth. He might have said something more, but Bendy simply stared him down. The prophet knew better than to question his decisions. He obediently kept his distance so Bendy could decide where to go. The ink demon looked right and vanished into the ink flooded hallway.

Going through the puddles bothered him far more than the sigils. Spending any amount of time as part of the formless, nameless masses was… uncomfortable, to say the least. He was at least lucky that he COULD form, and semi-fully. He formed into a gangly abomination, horribly off-model and increasingly injured the further down he reformed, but it was a form, nonetheless. As he entered the room Henry landed in, he stepped carefully around the old animator’s body and set down both objects. Seeing him like that sent a pang of worry through him, but he squashed it down. Henry was fine. Henry was always fine after those falls. He shuffled back to the sigil to bide his time elsewhere. He’d see him again soon. The prophet always made sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't feel right moving on without addressing one very tall, very inky elephant in the room: Bendy remembering when no one else does.


	4. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Henry travels further into the studio he used to call home, old and new collide.

The silence and the dim light of the candles reassured Henry, and he lay where he landed until the spinning sensation and the darkness swallowing the corners of his vision subsided. He winced as he pushed himself to his feet, pushing through the stabbing pain from his bleeding hand. Now he could take a proper look at what stood before him.  
  
Coffins.  
  
Inwardly he panicked. What happened here? The creature’s offerings lay at the base of the coffins, next to a fire axe: an audio log and what looked like a small windowpane attached to a lever. His brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out what their purpose was.  
  
|Leave that monster’s worthless possessions. Take the axe and go. |  
  
Before he could think he’d already half-turned away, good hand outstretched towards the weapon. Then he reconsidered. No, that thing had left these for a reason! He wanted to know why! But he’d already turned in spite of himself, pulling the axe towards him.  
  
|LEAVE.|  
  
The thought persisted, louder this time.  
  
He grimaced. Despite every fiber of his being protesting, he slowly set the axe back down, and crouched down in front of the items. The audio log emitted a loud, grinding static tone as it was played.  
  
|See? Worthless. Leave it.|  
  
He ignored the passing thought and reached for the device next. Now this… he had no idea what to do with this. He couldn’t even tell WHAT this was. Peering through the glass in the middle revealed nothing. For all intents and purposes, it seemed just as worthless as he continued to insist. Then he noticed the switch on top. He flicked it on, and the lights dotting the inside sparked to life.  
  
Names.  
  
He could see names now. _Norman_ and _Grant_ , glowing yellow as labels for each coffin. To his left, the wall read _Say Hello to Sammy_.  
  
His old coworkers… He raised a hand to his mouth, tears pricking at his eyes as he looked on in horror.  
  
The studio had made Joey far worse, this he knew… but there were some lines he thought even Joey wouldn’t cross… clearly, he was wrong. The fall gave him two options: try to find the way back up or keep moving forward. He decided on the latter. Someone had to confront Mr. Drew; who better than his ‘best pal’?  
  
Henry grabbed the axe, shoving the seeing tool deep within his pocket just as he heard something click on the other side of the door. While it was hard to discern the exact words, it was the familiar tone and lilt of the voice that began to speak that sent a wave of recognition through him.  
The music director.  
  
The thorn in everyone’s side.  
  
His friend, Samuel Lawrence.  
  
He threw open the door. As the voice grew clearer, he realized that it wasn’t the man whose voice he heard, but another godforsaken audio log. He mumbled the words ‘Can I get an amen?’ bitterly as the tape ended, unsure why he knew them but hating them all the same.  
  
“I said, ‘Can I get an amen’?” A shiver ran down his spine. Now THAT… that voice was no recording. He sounded so close. Henry raced towards the source and axed through the boards blocking his path, barely giving the veritable river of ink a second glance before beginning to wade through. He had to get through to the other side before he missed him.  
  
“Sheep, sheep, sheep, it’s time for sleep…”  
  
Henry froze. The… creature, that came into view of the doorway was no man at all. He was man-shaped, perhaps, but covered in—perhaps even made of—ink. He was mannequin-esque: no hair or discernable facial features. A mask whose visage he couldn’t quite place covered the rest of his head. It left a chilling mockery of the stern but kind man he remembered.  
  
What had been done to him? What did _Joey_ do to him?  
  
“In the morning, you make wake-”  
  
The ink man moved past the doorway now. Henry scrambled to catch up as the voice disappeared. “Hey! Wait, please!”  
  
“-Or in the morning, you’ll be dead.”  
  
Sammy had vanished.  
  
To Henry’s left, a Bendy cutout and a sigil on the wall gave no answers. To his right, yet another hallway, with a similar dead end. Where in the world could he have gone? The cutout grinned in silence, as if mocking him with answers he couldn’t yet understand. Watching. Judging. He let out a groan of frustration and cut the damn thing down. He hurried to the end of the hall, hoping that maybe there’d be some clue of where the ink man had vanished to. No such luck. The wall to his left stood shuttered closed, powered by 3 switched that apparently weren’t turned on. He gritted his teeth. Another puzzle…  
  
A sense of sinking dread overwhelmed him, telling him this was just the start of all the tedious ways Joey would extend his stay in this personal Hell. It irritated him, but his only option was to play along… unless maybe the symbols in the sigil had something to offer. How he intended to interpret them, he didn’t know, but at least it’d be a straw to grasp at.  
  
The cutout stood grinning in the way. His eyes widened.  
  
“How in the world did—but I swear I just…” he mumbled, placing a shaky hand on the cardboard figure. All it did was stare. He grimaced. Maybe… he would think twice about cutting down any more standees.  
  
Finding the switches didn’t take long. As the shutter blocking off the next room lifted, Henry couldn’t help but smile. Now he knew where he fell to: The music department. If he wasn’t sitting cramped at his desk, he’d always bring his work to either the band room or the organ room. Music soothed his aches and pains, and the two men most responsible for said music soothed his nerves. Of course Sammy, dedicated head of the department, still hung around the area… a sobering thought, yet strangely comforting. Maybe he still remembered.  
  
He stepped inside. Lights flickered on with a distinct fluorescent hum, and music crackled to life. The cheerful tune eerily echoed through the main entrance, empty aside from the ink that seemed to permeate everything. Another step forward triggered something else—a chorus of choking growls and gurgles drowned out the music, and Henry watched in horror as the puddles of ink violently burst. From the blackness rose creatures much like Sammy, but… half-formed, melting into themselves and reforming as they dripped ink. They dragged themselves towards him. Instinct took over, fear swallowed by cool determination as he advanced on them.  
  
|They’re _weak_! |  
  
One vanished into nothingness at a slice from his axe. He bit back a groan as the impact dug deep into his wounded palm.  
  
|They’re _monsters_! I have to kill them! |  
  
He lunged again, and another dissolved back into its puddle. A strange haze took over him, almost beside himself as his body just… moved.  
  
\--  
_His head pounded. The lack of sleep was starting to affect his work, shaky hands ruining several perfectly good sketches. He couldn’t leave the studio, though. Not with the deadlines running so close together. He rubbed his temples hard, hoping for a bit of relief as he closed his eyes._  
  
_Nothing._  
  
_Nothing but the gentle tones of a violin._  
  
_The band must be practicing. He slowly heaved himself out of his chair, gathering pencils and papers together. Maybe a change of scenery would help his creative juices flow._  
  
_The music stopped partway through his trip down. As he approached, ignoring the glowing ‘recording’ sign above the door, he could hear they weren’t really ‘practicing’ anymore. Sammy was too busy giving a lecture._  
  
_“You’re off-tempo and too loud! What are you trying to do, blow out our equipment? We can’t afford to replace it! Why don’t you show a little consideration and play competently, instead of—”_  
  
_The music director paused, turning to face the door as it opened. Henry stared back, clutching his armful of supplies a little tighter._  
  
_“…Stein.” Sammy pinched the bridge of his nose, “Did we interrupt something? Or do you have more work for me.”_  
  
_He slowly shook his head, “I was hoping to sit in, actually.”_  
  
_The irritated look melted off his face, and his brows knit together in confusion. “…Really?”_  
  
_“I know you’re never satisfied with it, but I still think you all make very good music, Sammy. I’ll be quiet, I pormise. I just need something more stimulating than staring at a wall.”_  
  
_Sammy offered a wry smile, but quickly shook it off as he turned back to the group. “Hear that? You’re more stimulating than staring at a wall. Now that’s what I call progress. And… Henry. As long as you’re silent, I suppose you can stick around.”_  
  
_Henry quickly slipped in, closing the door behind him. The band room certainly had a lot more to offer than his one-desk ‘animation department’. Posters, instruments, the hustle and bustle of people… it was nice. He settled himself by the piano, since it seemed they weren’t using it just yet._  
  
_Sammy watched him flit around, and once he seemed situated, the man nodded, grabbing at his sheet music._  
  
_“Well… maybe with an audience, you’ll play at a more human volume.”_  
  
_After a while, Sammy completely forgot about the intruder in his work space. At least, Henry hoped he did. Work quickly slipped by the wayside, and before he knew it, he drifted in and out of slumber, only waking if one of the players let out an especially loud note. The silence, ironically, is what fully pulled him away from sleep. Hushed murmurs he couldn’t quite discern, followed by one particularly harsh whisper:_  
  
_“If any of you wake him, I’ll kill you.”_  
  
_Quiet footsteps quickly retreated in multiples of two. Just a single set of footsteps remained, slowly drawing close until they sounded right next to where he’d curled up. Instead of a rough hand waking him, he felt something soft drape over him: a blanket. Sammy just laid a blanket over him. The music director tsked disapprovingly._  
  
_“Idiot. Don’t work yourself to death here. It’s not worth it.” A pause. “Ah, but who am I to say?”_  
  
_The footsteps started to leave, and just as Henry settled down to hopefully get some more sleep, the door slammed open._  
  
_“WHERE_ IS HENRY!”  
  
\---  
  
Henry jumped, clutching his chest as his heart threatened to leap out of his ribcage. Instruments, chairs, recording equipment… when did he end up in the band room?  
  
And why did he feel like he was being watched?  
  
It seemed empty on the floor, but his eyes trailed upward, and…  
  
There. Up in the projector room. He gaped at the sight of the cardboard figures, ever-smiling from their perch. They moved back and forth wherever he wasn’t, from projection room to band floor, avoiding him but still monitoring his progress… The shadows of the music director followed him, in audio logs and physical presence. It made every inch of hair stand on end. But all he could do was keep pushing. Any moment of rest could be his last, he reminded himself. His white-knuckled grip on the axe never faltered, even as he went through Sammy’s puzzles and entered the sanctuary. The ink struck him first.  
  
**Sing a happy song  
**   
**Whistle a Happy tune  
**   
**Wait for his arrival  
**   
**He’s coming very soon  
**   
The whispers followed, louder and more insistent as he grew close to the ink valve. Something inside him hesitated. Sammy… listened to this, day in and day out. It scared him. But all he could do was turn off the flow and try to move as quickly as possible. Upon glancing up at the projection room to count how many watched now, he realized a new presence waited for him.  
  
Henry stared up at the prophet, silently surrounded by cutouts and watching him in return. He tried to speak. His mouth felt glued shut, the only sound escaping him a quiet, sad noise he was sure the music director couldn’t hear. With considerable effort, he shakily reached a hand out towards him.  
  
Sammy tilted his head slightly to one side. “…Soon, my little sheep. You’ll return to the flock. You understand?”  
  
He slowly nodded, and the prophet hummed, a happy noise.  
  
“Very good.” The ink man turned and started to walk away. Henry tried to call out for him to wait, but once more words escaped him… and so did Sammy. The room erupted in ink.  
  
He started to swing, letting his body do the talking.  
  
\--  
  
_Henry rubbed at his eyes. The lines on his cells all seemed to blur together, and no amount of coffee seemed to help. Really, it just made it worse, combining exhaustion with caffeine jitters. He gave up. He set the pencil aside, gripping the sides of his head instead with a groan._  
  
Tap.  
  
_He froze. Joey? No, the man didn’t dare be that subtle. Sneaking a glance revealed a far more welcome face. A small man with prematurely gray hair, pale blue eyes, and a gentle smile stood there, offering a little wave. Johnny, the resident organist. He lowered his hands._  
  
_“Do you need something, Johnny?”_  
  
_The man shook his head. Johnny didn’t talk much. In fact, Henry wasn’t sure he’d ever heard him speak. He spent most of his time cooped up in the organ room, making music whenever Sammy demanded and little else, communicating in a rough pantomime or through written notes if he had them on him. Today, he chose the former, making a ‘come here’ gesture to the animator. Henry sighed a bit, but stood to follow nonetheless. He wasn’t getting anything done where he was sitting._  
  
_Johnny gently guided him down to the organ room—Henry always found the place claustrophobic, but for whatever reason the small man seemed right at home here. He sat down at the bench, then turned and started to pantomime at Henry._  
  
_“You… play. I listen…” Henry mouthed, watching his hands. “You want me to listen to your new composition?”_  
  
_Johnny nodded, smiling._  
  
_“Wouldn’t Sammy be a better critic?”_  
  
_The organist shook his head, gently patting the place beside him on the bench._  
  
_“I really should be working, Johnny…” Another expectant pat. Did he really want to fight this? No, he decided. The animator smiled a bit as he joined him._  
  
_The room filled with the rich tones of the organ, up and down in its own melodic chorus. As he sat there, eyes closed in appreciative rapture, the room felt so much larger than the confines of its walls._  
  
_“Alice Angel piece?” he asked. Johnny just smiled. He did too, listening in contented silence to the cheerful, yet reverent melody on their tiny pew._  
  
\--  
  
He returned to himself just before passing the room in question. While his feet kept moving, he grabbed the doorframe and stopped himself, pulling back to step inside. There stood the organ. Johnny’s organ.  
  
“At least you still seem normal,” he murmured, small smile back on his face. He approached the instrument, running a hand across the bench, feeling the well-worn wood grain with silent joy. Slowly, he brought it to the keys. It should still play…  
  
He pressed down.  
  
A jumble of discordant notes rattled out of the instrument. His heart dropped. Before he could wonder why, a new sound burst forth: something agonized. Something hurt. Surprise shifted to horror as his blood ran cold.  
  
“Johnny…?”  
  
Without thinking, he pressed again. Who else would it be? This was his room, his instrument! He pressed again, more forcefully.  
  
“Johnny! Can you hear me?!”  
  
Nothing. 2 more presses, 2 more demands, and 5 total refusals to do more than groan. Johnny was in that instrument somehow. He had to be, and Henry needed to free him. The axe wouldn’t cut it, but it would cut him if he tried. He hurried out to find something else. He heard footsteps behind him, he swore he did. Knowing that didn’t help him move, and he locked up in panic, unable to turn around and stop the blow to the back of his head. The last thing he heard as the world went dark was soft laughter, chilling and cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are again. We’ve veered rather sharply off the path the game laid down for us. You may be wondering ‘Well hey, where’s Jack Fain? You’re supposed to get a valve from him!’  
> He will show up, I promise. Henry's not playing the game the right way, and no one quite knows how to react--not even himself.


	5. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Face to face at last-- with Sammy, and with the beast that has helped and hindered him so far.

“There we go now. Nice and tight. We wouldn’t want our sheep roaming away now, would we? No, we wouldn’t.”  
  
Henry came to with a strange sense of déjà vu, like a nagging buzz in the back of his head as Sammy spoke. The words became little more than static as his brain tried to catch up with his body, numbly watching the prophet set his tools out of reach. Clarity snapped back to him when the ink man paused.  
  
“Wait! You look familiar to me…”  
  
He silently struggled against his bonds, wanting to say something, ANYTHING to tell him he knew him. Henry remembered, even if Sammy didn’t! Whatever happened, they could fix it! They could try to find out how to, if only Sammy would trust him enough to let him go! But no, the crushing feeling of futility bound him just as tight as the rope did. Sammy turned, mumbling dismissively.  
  
“It doesn’t matter. Little sheep, we welcome you back to the flock. The time of sacrifice is at hand…”  
  
Soon he was gone. Henry could see his axe and the seeing tool just in front of him, taunting him. If he could just… break free of these ropes, he’d be able to defend himself from what was sure to come. Now he understood why that beast waited before. He was toying with him! He couldn’t sit by and die like… well, like a lamb brought to slaughter. He redoubled his efforts. An unusual surge of strength ripped through him, and he suddenly burst free of his bonds. He lunged for the axe and tool just as more ink creatures emerged from the bubbling puddles.  
  
He readied himself for a fight.  
  
…  
  
But nothing moved. They just… sat where they formed. Watching him. Waiting. He lowered the axe slightly in confusion.  
  
“Shhh. Quiet! Listen! I can hear him. Crawling above. Hear me, Bendy! Arise from the darkness and claim my offering!” Sammy spoke over the loudspeaker, more frantic with every word that spilled from his mouth. They were waiting for their master. He considered running, but the decision was made for him. When he turned to leave, the ink demon appeared in the exit in all his glory.  
  
Something felt wrong about this. ALL of this. He wasn’t supposed to stop him. But now, he was face to face with the beast.  
  
He should run. He KNEW he should run. Every part of his body screamed for it, but something kept him standing there, transfixed. Neither moved. Even the abominations of barely human-esque ink waited with bated breath. Could they breathe? He shook his head quickly. Focus.  
  
The ink demon started to move, lifting one arm to slowly point at the device in his grip. Did he… want him to use it? Muscles tense and mind demanding he flee, he brought his so-called seeing tool to his face.  
  
Someone managed to draw on the ink demon.  
  
_Eyes_. Happy, pie cut eyes that, combined with the smile he’d found so terrifying just moments ago, made a very familiar face.  
  
“…Bendy?”  
  
The creature purred at the name.  
  
Just like that, the world broke from its trance. The amalgamations lurched towards him again, and Henry readied his axe. To his surprise, Bendy joined in the fight, easily smashing them back into the puddles they came from. Between the two of them, they made quick work of the few left in the room. Henry took a shaky breath.  
  
“You’re really… supposed to be him,” Henry whispered, looking back at the demon. It seemed so wrong. He couldn’t just /be/ Bendy. Not with Sammy the way he was, and those… things, the way they were. The ink demon just stared, making a miniscule motion that Henry decided to interpret as a shrug.  
  
“We’ll find out eventually, buddy.”  
  
“NO!”  
  
His head jerked up to stare at the loudspeakers. Sammy didn’t sound happy. The line went dead as the prophet raced back to the room, agitated in body movement, if not in expression. “How did you survive?!”  
  
Sammy cut off abruptly once he caught sight of the demon just feet away. “M-my lord… What is going on? Do you reject this sheep?”  
  
Bendy shuffled closer to Henry, towering over him a moment before simply flopping over. Henry grunted at the sudden weight, panic bubbling up as he felt ink writhe over him. Then Bendy wrapped his arms around him. He was hugging him? He was trying to, at least. It didn’t seem like he could bend his legs, on further inspection. Hesitantly, he tilted slightly up so he could hug the ink demon’s torso. The gangly creature purred again. He tried to ignore the movement under his fingers, pulsing ink slithering around in constant circulation over Bendy’s body. An uncomfortable, yet strangely soothing minute passed before the demon pulled back once more, attention back on the prophet.  
  
The poor man radiated confusion, despite the obscuring mask.  
  
“I can try to explain,” Henry offered, stepping towards him. Sammy shook his head quickly, focus entirely on the demon. “Oh, come on, Sammy. He can’t speak as far as I’ve seen-“  
  
“NO! I-I don’t know how you did this, but my lord has NEVER rejected one of my offerings before!”  
Henry sighed, pushing up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I wouldn’t say your… offering, was ‘rejected’, per say.”  
The prophet ignored him though, instead approaching Bendy entreatingly, arms spread open. “Tell me, my lord… what have I done? Why have you rejected this sacrifice? I will make it right! Just tell me how…”  
  
Bendy didn’t respond, except to step away from him into the ‘exit’. Sammy obediently followed, until they reached a familiar piece of ink writing on the wall. He pointed to one of Sammy’s writings, **He Will Set Us Free** scrawled. He put particular emphasis on ‘he’, then gestured excitedly to Henry. Sammy scratched his head.  
  
“…I was referring to you with that, my lord…” he murmured, sounding confused.  
  
Bendy shook his head and pointed again at Henry, more aggressively this time. Sammy sighed.  
  
“…I am your shepherd, and I am your prophet. If you believe in this man, I shall follow.”  
  
Henry grimaced, insisting, “But how can I help you? I don’t know what’s going on…” The ink demon chirped in displeasure. Henry frowned back, crossing his arms defensively. “Do you know something I don’t?”  
  
Bendy nodded, grabbing him by the wrist before he could protest and dragging him over to a sigil on the wall. He paused there, staring at Henry for a reaction. The man gave him a puzzled look back. He chirruped again, sinking his free hand INTO the sigil. Henry’s eyes widened.  
  
“I don’t think I can do that, Bendy.”  
  
He didn’t give him another choice, slowly pulling Henry closer as he stepped in. As soon as Henry’s hand met the wall, they came to a hard stop. Bendy poked his head back out inquisitively.  
“Like I said,” Henry commented, gesturing to his hand pressed flat against the sigil, “I can’t do that.” An annoyed noise escaped the ink demon. It stepped back out of the sigil and stepped in front of Henry to push him flush against the wall. Henry chuckled good-naturedly.  
  
“Bendy, I promise you, I’m stuck. You can’t-”  
  
The words died on his lips. His eyes widened in surprise and fear.  
  
_Something grabbed his leg._  
  
A long, spindly, inky arm wrapped its claw-like fingers around his ankle. Almost as soon as he noticed it, another arm burst through the wall, gripping his arm. He gasped and squirmed, trying to pull away as more and more arms reached from the sigil to clutch and—  
  
And pull him _back _, painfully back crushing like a vice between their hands and the wall—__  
But the ink demon’s hands kept him firmly trapped.  
  
“Bendy, please-!” A hand snaked around to cover his mouth, muffling his agonized cries. With one sickening crunch, the impossible became possible, and searing pain enveloped him as the hands yanked him through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any chapter was going to get a massive rewrite, it'd be this one. There's a lot I like about it but a lot I just don't have the writing skill yet to handle. But hey, that's what this is for, learning to write the way I want to and getting ideas to paper.
> 
> Don't worry too much about Henry, guys. He's been through worse.


	6. Tally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry learns a lot of things. He sees even more. What to do with this information, and what is even useful? That's another story.

**VOICES.**

All indiscernible whispers, but some gentle, some sad, some _furious_. Quiet tones murmured so constantly they rang deafeningly loud in his ears.

Blackness, total yet moving—no, swirling—around him.

The feeling of constantly being touched, yet knowing there was nothing around to touch him.

He was standing (but when) in a long, dark tunnel (but _where_?). The instant he moved (at least, he thought he did), orange and white spun together like an entrance, beckoning him towards it. The voices got louder once the entrance (or exit?) formed, and he felt the urge to see where it led, yet… this urge felt so foreign to him. It tugged on his mind so lightly, almost a suggestion instead of an attack on all other thoughts, so convincing he almost moved, but—

A shift.

 _Fear_. Suddenly the noise in his ear gained clarity. The whispers rioted.

“No…”

“Please, leave-!”

“ _RUN_!”

The former animator listened.

“|HENRY|.” One voice, crystal clear in the blackness, so disturbingly familiar it sent a shiver up his spine and yet he couldn’t place it.

A glance revealed an arm, untainted by ink, reaching for him through the blackness. Instead of relief at seeing something unmistakably human, he only felt horror watching it draw closer. He stopped moving, mind at war. Half demanded he listen to the voices and run, and the other…

|Wait.|

|WAIT.|

|NO—!|

Something else reached him first, suddenly grabbing him and yanking him to the side, away from both the hand and the exit, into the whispers now screaming—

And just as suddenly, he was expelled from that blackness, the hand making one final lunge for him before disappearing along with everything else. Henry lay sprawled on the studio floor, every inch of him trembling with pain. A low rumble above him slowly pulled his attention upwards. Bendy stared down, head tilted questioningly to one side in a caricature of concern. All he could do was groan and tense. His gaze flicked around the room, and he realized with a sick sense of relief that he knew exactly where they were.

“I… need a hand, buddy…” The ink demon stared questioningly at the outstretched hand a moment longer before giving him a tug, Henry hissing out some choice words as he was dragged to his feet.

He staggered down the hallway. The exit door taunted him, inaccessible due to the giant hole where he’d fallen in before. They were back on the top floor.

“You… brought me back up.”

Bendy chirped affirmatively.

“How?!” he demanded, only briefly feeling guilty as the ink demon bowed its head. Why was he even asking? Bendy couldn’t answer him, only chirp and trill and groan, like a cross between an animal and a bug. After a moment, he shook his head, leaning heavily against the wall. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose. We’re up here now. That’s something.”

Bendy held out his other hand. In his grip was the seeing tool. Henry gratefully took it. At least he could check out what the ‘little’ devil was so agitated about. “Alright, Bendy. What do you want me to see?”

The first hidden message lay next to the exit sign, adding ‘ _OR DIE_ ’ to the side. Seemed self-explanatory, if confusing. Who could have written it? Judging by the displeased grumble, that wasn’t what he was supposed to look at. He glanced at the hole curiously.

 _I always fall_.

Henry grimaced, stomach twisting without fully knowing why. The hole was new! Why ‘always’? Another grumble, louder and more frustrated behind him. The animator shot him an exasperated look. “Bendy, if you have something specific for me to see, you need to actually show me where to point this thing.”

The ink demon placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him towards the posters. Henry raised a questioning brow. The demon just pointed again. With a sigh, he brought the glass back to his face.

His eyes widened as he stared at the countless markings that littered the wall, confusion mixing with deep-seated, horrible recognition that he couldn’t quite yet place.

 _Tally marks_. He slowly exhaled, reaching out towards the very end of the list, running a thumb down that final line.

“Where did these—or, how… how do you get a new tally? Who put these here?”

Bendy jabbed him in the back.

“…Me? When? I didn’t—”

No.

He had. Completely reflexively, he didn’t even give the poster a glance as he did it in passing.

Hesitantly he moved his finger further up the wall. Where his memory failed, his body remembered: the second the digit touched the softly glowing marking, searing pain ripped through his body, across his back, flashes of injuries attacking him at all angles and driving him to his knees with a choked noise. The seeing tool clattered to the floor. His arms quickly followed, trying to brace himself.

Next came the visions.

Faces flashed in front of his eyes. Faces tied to events. _Faces tied to deaths_.

_Putting a reel in a throne. A beast dissolving to white._

_An apartment. A familiar apartment, housing familiar face, filling him with hate._

_The entrance they were in, playing in a horrible loop, all slightly different yet everything that mattered never wavered._

_“There’s something I want to show you.”_

He gasped, only then realizing Bendy had pulled him up and started shaking him, whimpering and whining. As his eyes finally focused on the demon, he was pulled into a tight hug. Too dazed to really fight it, he let him do so until the fog on his mind cleared.

“I… I remember,” he muttered, and Bendy made a questioning trill. Henry added, a little louder, “…Somewhat. Fits and bursts. I think… if I kept trying out tally marks I could get more back, but like hell am I going through that again. Once is enough… Is that all you wanted me to see?”

The demon nodded, and the ex-animator groaned as he pushed himself away. Next question. “How did you find out?”

A long silence, before Bendy pointed at him. His mind went back to the audio log full of static.

Seemed like there was some use to it after all. Now they just needed a way to proceed. What use did this knowledge give him? A better idea of the people he might encounter (even if all he remembered was in glimpses), perhaps. It did give him an idea… one that combined Bendy’s awareness and Sammy’s… extra pair of hands? A chance to reunite and possibly rescue his old friend, but he didn’t dare dwell on that thought. Not with the prophet’s mind the way it was. He’d move the former musician away from being just a demonic lackey, but that may take some time.

“We should return to Sammy.”

Only after he spoke did he realize what he would have to do to GET back down. As Bendy turned to head back to the sigil, Henry stayed rigid, conflicted and worried. “W-wait, no, you are NOT putting me through that again!” His eyes scrunched shut, gripping the sides of his head. “Those voices, that hand, that _pain_ … not again. Can’t I just hop through the hole again? Sure, that injured my—” He’d moved to show off his injury for emphasis… only to find his palm completely smooth.

“—My hand…” It looked like nothing happened. A thousand questions ran through his head, but the one that left his mouth played a very familiar tune. “What did you do to me?”

Of course Bendy didn’t answer, only stared. Henry wasn’t sure if it was because the demon didn’t know, or if he did and just didn’t have the means to say it. But, the ink demon did shuffle back to his side and tug on his arm. A request to follow. Henry wordlessly obeyed. That was easier said than done by the time they reached the sigil, though, Henry hesitating just in front of it. The ink demon grumbled again and gave him a little shove.

He reached out to catch himself on the sigil.

When that didn’t happen, he plunged straight through the wall and fell face-first to the floor with a yelp. He lay there a moment, staring wide-eyed at the makeshift walkway before him, until he saw Bendy walk over him with a pleased chirp.

“You knew that would happen,” he commented, pushing himself back to his feet. The demon whistled and nodded. Now it was his turn to grumble, resignedly following.

Hands reached out through the slats at him, but before he could fully react to the sight, Bendy hissed loudly. While Henry jumped, the hands yanked back, and the murmurs grew louder. Even with the knowledge he’d regained, all of… this… confused him. Realization hit.

“I’ve never seen this before,” he breathed. Bendy made an affirmative noise. He paused, having to take a moment just to let it soak in. “This is new…”

After so long of doing _everything_ thousands of times, becoming so numb to it all that death received the barest of emotional responses, the idea that something could still be _new_ … well, it was almost enough to give him a little hope for a change. In fact, the more he thought, the more he realized he’d never done before. Just existing the way he did, still being emotional, getting to be much closer to the Henry that first walked into the building however many years now ago… it awed him. The script was changing, and though part of him whispered to |go back to the familiar, to give up on what he knew would fail|, he found it ever easier to push that voice aside.

As they made their way out of the sigil they first came from, Henry noted Sammy patiently waiting to the side, hands clasped together as if in prayer. He seemed to notice the animator first, shoulders slumping. Henry raised a brow. “Yes? Glad you react now, and not when I’m being ripped apart.”

“…How?” The question came so… weak. Quiet. Upset, even.

“How what?”

“You are… _you_. How is that possible?” Sammy made a frustrated noise that he couldn’t quite place, and his next statement came with an accusatory edge. “Why YOU?”

That set Bendy off. A low growl rumbled from him, and the prophet _froze_. Despite his reverence for the ink demon, he seemed to scare him—petrify him, really. Bendy advanced, darkness seeping up through the floorboards in wisps and tendrils that curled around Sammy’s feet as he backed up, until he hit the wall. One large hand wrapped around his throat, lifting him. The prophet desperately tried to claw the hand off, choked noises of pain escaping him yet somehow still able to speak,

“M-my lord, please! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I will _never_ question your judgement again, _please_ —!”

“Bendy!”

Both stopped, looking at Henry.

“Put him down.”

Bendy whined.

“DOWN.”

Slowly, the demon set his prophet back on the ground.

Sammy stared, first at Henry, then at his own hands. Henry watched him with concern. “Are you okay, Sammy?”

He didn’t answer. Ink started to pool and drip beneath the mask on either side of his chin.

“Sammy…?”

Finally, he looked at him, still dripping. “My lord wishes, and I—but the humble servant—I obey,” he whispered, not a trace of his previous pride in his voice. “Where do you will me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank all of you for your patience with me! That was quite a gap between chapters that I did NOT intend to have. I hope you found it worth the wait.

**Author's Note:**

> This AU will also be posted to the blog of the same name on tumblr! Feel free to ask questions, post comments, or make requests. All are wanted and greatly appreciated!  
> https://thelastloop.tumblr.com/


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